But he was only Lestat, as I've described him to you: devoid of mystery, finally, his limits as familiar to me in those months in eastern Europe as his charms. I wanted to forget him, and yet it seemed I thought of him always. It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I felt myself so vividly aware of him it was as
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But what do you know! When I finally read the book, it turned out to be one of the deepest and the most touching ones I've read, even if it is about vampires, and therefore not to be taken seriously. My ass. I'm ready to defend Interview with the Vampire to anyone who says it's low brow because of the vampires.
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